Gunmetal
by Maleficence
Summary: /a trainwreck collection of MelloxMatt/ - three: Even hardcore, chain-smoking gamers get a little insecure sometimes.
1. that's right well, i may have faked it

**01**. **that's right; well, i may have faked it.**

On his first night without him, Mello finds the prettiest hooker he can.

The boy's jailbait, and he hardly looks legal, but Mello doesn't give a fuck because he has dark red hair that flops over his pretty green eyes. Gorgeous but expensive, and Mello realises that he'll have to give up chocolate for a while, but no chocolate is better than having _MattMattMattMatt_ on his mind all the time.

And damn, the boy – _Lawrence_, or something like that; Mello wasn't really paying attention – really knows how to suck. His lips and tongue work together smoothly, and Mello thrusts blindly because for some fucking reason, even though he's _hard_ and he wants it so badly, he's not feeling anything, but _God_ he wants to_, _he wants to he wants to he _wants to._

So he puts the boy out of his misery and tells him to stop for a while. Then shakily, he wraps his cold fingers around his cock, stroking and pumping himself. And when that doesn't work, he closes his eyes and imagines that the trembling hands belong to someone else, someone who tastes like cigarettes and sweat.

That's all it takes. He can't help the whisper that leaves his lips – "_Matt_…" – as he comes, the spasms racking through his shuddering body.

The boy's watching it all with a half-smirk, and for a moment Mello is tempted to punch him. He holds himself back – just – and instead, he presses the boy hard against the wall. Pinning him down with firm fingers, he attacks the soft lips, grateful when they respond against his.

From there, he loses himself. Somehow, in a blur of movement and moans, they end up on the bed, writhing against each other in pleasure. Mello's forcing himself not to think, and all he can comprehend is _skin_ and _heat_ and the annoying, incessant _video game music_ playing in the back of his head, over and over and _over_ and he doesn't even know how the fuck it got there.

His mistake is looking up.

After leaving a trail of small, sharp nips across a bare throat, his gaze flicks upward for just a second, but that's enough. A jolt hits him as he registers the unfamiliar face, the expression of ecstasy that's so different to the one he's used to seeing, and most of all, the eyes that are the _wrong shade of green_.

He almost throws up right there.

.  
.

**note**:  
_title is from a _panic! at the disco_ song; kudos to those who can tell me which one without cheating. and the name _Lawrence_ is indeed the name of a pretty-boy prostitute; if you know where it's from, you get a prize. _:)

_okay, um. well, see, once upon a time, i loved only L. but then i was introduced to mello & matt, and after reading quite a few beautiful stories, i sort of fell in love with them. (i blame the awesome writers in this fandom entirely.) and so i had to keep reading and writing and obsessing over these two, because they're so tragic. reviews are love._


	2. like

**02**. **like.**

"_Jesus_, Mello. Look, I know you're a homo and all, but that shirt's sort of, uh, really freakin'_ tight_."

"I'm not a fucking homo," Mello snarls from across the room, eyes narrowing dangerously.

Matt presses the _start_ button on his console, pausing the game to raise his hands in surrender. "Hey, it's not like I was complaining. I just figured that if you went out wearing _that,_" he stops briefly as Mello strides over towards him, straddling his waist in one smooth movement. "Uh, you might get arrested for indecent exposure. Even though it's not exactly _indecent_. Hell, I mean, if I were a cop, I'd probably just arrest you so that I'd be the only one staring at you, 'cause, you know…"

Matt trails off, partly because he doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about, and partly because Mello's pressed right up against his chest, lips wet and slightly parted while his fingers tug at the waistband of Matt's jeans.

Despite himself, Matt can't resist a snide remark. "So you're not gay, but you've pretty much got your hands down my pants?"

Mello shoves him backwards onto the couch, irritation flashing across his face. "Shut the fuck up, Matt. I don't like guys, okay?"

"Then _what_?" Matt knows that if keeps pestering Mello like this, he'll either get kicked off the couch or out the door, but his curiosity is overpowering his common sense at the moment. "Are you implying that I'm not a guy?"

"No," answers Mello wryly, glancing at the slight bulge in the redhead's jeans. "You're a guy, alright."

"I don't _get it_!" Matt's exasperated by now. "Are you in denial or something? Because you're not making any sense, seriously—"

"Shut _up_," growls Mello, leaning in for a rough kiss. Matt complies – _finally_, Mello thinks with a roll of his eyes – and kisses back, snaking an arm around to pull off the really freakin' tight shirt that started this whole mess.

"I don't like guys," Mello repeats, after a few minutes, when he's completely sure that Matt's too busy trying to _breathe_ to answer him. He buries his face against Matt's neck, his words coming out as a soft, almost embarrassed mumble, and Matt has to strain to hear them.

"I just like you."

.  
.

**note**:  
_To everyone who reviewed the first chapter, __**much love**__. You guys are awesome, for recognising the _panic!_ and _boys next door_ references. I'm feeling somewhat generous, and a little un-creative, so I'm asking you guys — that's _**TheMorganScore**_, _**jjwitdaheydiddydiddy**_, _**Demonic Seraphim**_,_ **KyuuketsukixChan**_, _**Pen of Paracelsus**_, and _**jennafurr freeed** _— to give me a theme or, uh, thing, that you'd like to see in one of my fics. Say for example, you want "closet!sex", or maybe "cry-your-eyes-out angst with a straight!Matt." I will then try to write a fic with your theme, and thank you in my author's note for said theme. This is only if you want to. And be warned though: I'm a terrible procrastinator._

_This was just some fluff. 'Cause that's how I roll, yo. Even though looking back, Mello's sort of just like "shut up and sex me!" and Matt's like "I don't understaaaaannnd." But yes. **Reviews** are love, especially **concrit**. Please and thank you._


	3. lighthouse

**03. Lighthouse**

An incoherent jumble of curses and moans spills from Mello's lips, as he feels the ice-cold fingers brushing against his heated skin. In an attempt to control his impulsive writhing, he twists to grapple at the bedsheets, but his palms are slick with sweat and _God_, he can't even _think_, let alone _stop_.

Smirking at the reaction, Matt continues to tease his fingers lightly across Mello's stomach, before barely ghosting over his needy erection.

"Matt," comes the choked hiss, "I fucking swear to God, I will break your fucking _neck_ if you keep—"

"Yeah?" grins Matt in reply, stopping his touches altogether. "Go on."

There's a moment of stillness as Mello tries to remember how to breathe. A burst of oxygen enters his lungs with each ragged breath, as he stares through the dimness of the apartment at Matt's face above him. Behind the dopey smile, a tinge of pain lingers in Matt's expression. It's masked well, but for Christ's sake, they've been friends — or lovers, or whatever the fuck they are — since _forever_, and there's no way in hell that he'll let Matt hide anything from him.

With a painful groan, Mello sits up. "Goddamnit, Matt. You've been acting weird all day. What's the fucking problem?"

Matt blinks in surprise at Mello's response. He'd expected hands around his neck, or fists to come flying at him, or to be kicked off the bed or — or _something_, but not this.

"I asked you a _question_." Even though he's still somewhat breathless, the irritation in Mello's words is evident.

Matt decides not to push his luck any further, spilling the first excuse that comes to mind. "Nothing. You just look sort of adorable when you're all desperate for more." Refusing to make eye contact, he pushes Mello back down onto the bed, straddling his waist firmly.

Almost immediately, Mello throws him off with a forceful shove. "Don't _bullshit._ What's the fucking problem?" he repeats angrily, watching Matt land in an awkward heap.

Under the guise of shifting his body into a more comfortable position, Matt turns away from the fierce glare. "Nothing, okay? Stop overreacting."

"No, _you_ stop fucking with me!" A hand grabs his wrist, digging fingertips into his flesh to force him around, but he presses his lips together defiantly.

Answered by nothing but stony silence, Mello loosens his hold, dropping his hand back onto the bed. "_Fine_. Whatever. See if I give a damn." He rolls onto his side to face the wall, still naked. The chilly air bites at his skin, a sharp contrast to Matt's body heat, but he hunches his shoulders stubbornly against the cold. After a while, he hears the mattress creak softly, and a familiar arm snakes over his waist, but he jerks irritably away from the touch.

"Mell, you're being a drama queen."

When Mello doesn't respond, Matt sighs in defeat. Laying his head onto the pillow, next to Mello, he reaches forward to play with the messy strands of blond hair.

Unsurprisingly, Mello yanks his head away. His wince of pain is uttered into the pillow, but Matt hears the muffled noise anyway. Smiling wryly, he looks up at the ceiling, even though it's too dark to see anything, and whispers, "When will you get tired of me?"

The words are bitter, and Mello can't help but stiffen. '_What?_' he nearly blurts, before remembering that he's supposed to be pissed off.

"I asked you a question," Matt persists, with the slightest quaver in his voice.

Although his back is turned, Mello knows exactly what Matt's expression looks like right now. _Screw this_, he thinks, and turns away from the wall.

"What the _fuck_,Matt?" he asks, curious and irritated and almost afraid.

Matt shrugs, but there's no confidence in the movement, only despair, and Mello feels something wrenching in his chest.

"You _idiot_," he growls. In one swift movement, he pulls Matt toward him and kisses him roughly. He savours the feel of Matt's breath mingling with his, before grazing his teeth over the redhead's bottom lip to continue the trail down his throat. "You," he says, pausing between licks and nips, "are mine. _My bitch_. And I'm not going to— to get _tired_ of you, or whatever you were going on about. Okay?"

The kissing stops as Mello looks up, studying Matt's face intently for his reaction. For a moment, Matt's eyes remain averted, but then a slow smile spreads across his face, and it's genuine and _God_, Mello thinks his heartbeat must be screwing up or something because it starts to _pound_ like crazy.

"Yeah," answers Matt, the confidence back in his tone. "Okay."

"Good," Mello mutters grumpily, but the last part of the word is cut off as Matt lunges in for a kiss. Caught by surprise, Mello uses his left hand to push against the mattress, steadying himself for balance.

The fingers of his right hand, though, are laced together with Matt's. His grip is tight, like he's clinging on for dear life and Matt's hand _hurts,_ because Mello's nails have been digging into the back of his hand for almost five minutes now.

But that's okay, really. Aside from the half-moon imprints and bitten fingernails, their hands sort of fit together perfectly, anyway.

.

.

**note**:

_asdjhsajkdhj. They're both horribly OOC, aren't they? _

_Oh well. Please __**concrit**__, because concrit is my life. Or review, if you can't be screwed to be critical, 'cause that's okay too. _

_Please don't shoot me for the long wait in between; I'm just lazy._

_Much love, and happy new year guys. -hearts-  
_


End file.
